Dairy
by 1Past and Present1
Summary: We all want something from someone.


**Dairy**

Hi, I was in a mood. Please enjoy the results of said mood. Also, I love reviews, anon or otherwise, if you want to drop a note. Concrit is always nice.

Bless you, whoever you are.

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_Tap-tap-tap_

I sit here at my desk, drumming my fingers over the wood, one digit after the other and back again. I do this for hours at a time, over and over again, slowly dulling the nails. It's mindless noise in the background. Soothing somehow, to listen to it. This tapping. No pressure. Don't think.

_Tap-tap-tap_

Watch the ceiling fan turn. I'm trying to remember something. I've forgotten something important, I know it. But I can't remember what that something was. Was it a person? No, that doesn't feel quite right. Not a person. A thing. I'm sure of it now. This time. I'm sure of myself. Confident.

_Tap-tap-tap_

I yawn, not bothering to raise a hand to cover my mouth. I'm all by myself, nobody's here to curse my lack of manners. And I don't really care anyway. Not anymore. What does it matter? All that matters is remembering this something I've forgotten. Everything else can wait for now.

_Tap-tap_

I stop, respectfully acknowledging the ringing echo of a gunshot outside my window. Stand and leave my desk. Pull a book out of the nearby shelf and flip it open to a random page. Move to the window whist pretending to read, my eyes secretly trained to the glass. Chaos reigns beyond.

The light is dim, but I can clearly see aimless people walking the streets. I can clearly see men dragging men into alleyways. I can clearly see women crouched by garbage piles. I can clearly see children lying down. Store windows smashed, doors forced open, television sets hauled.

My ears prick forward at a scream. Do I recognise that voice? I'm not sure. Listen until it dies. Turn another page and continue pretending to browse, disinterested in the crumbling city, our home. It's not truly a lie. Not a complete ruse. I stopped giving a care when they burned my club down.

I try to leave the scene. Sit on the edge of my small, unmade bed. Read about love and warfare. Conquest and magic. With the attention of a zombie. But it's hard. That screaming is starting to get to me. Riling me up. Annoying. And so familiar. I know that voice. I'm sure of it now. This time.

Sobbing follows, many morose voices rising in union to join the first, and I decide what I need is a drink. I toss the book aside and get to my feet. Stroll to the fridge in this single derelict room, open the door and sigh at the cool expanse of emptiness leeching at my face. Freezing my veins.

Close the fridge and abandon it with a huff. Times are hard. Pat my pockets for spare change. Don't know why. I'll have to go out. Scrounge something in the ruins. Perhaps barter with a provider of such things, a dealer in pleasant distractions. Who knows? Maybe a walk will help me to remember.

I don't bother going out the door. Tired of running into people in the halls. All thieves like me. Too many thieves here. All of them, after what I've got. No, it's not safe. I have to be smart. I'm good at being smart. I'll just go out the window again. So I do. I stroll over to the window, push it open.

I throw one leg over, then the other, and let myself drop. My wings open and gracefully I drift over bobbing heads and sweating backs of some rodents picking through damp blankets, fighting amongst themselves. I avoid the crowd, landing neatly on a crack of exposed sidewalk. Then I vanish.

Wade through living filth trying to seek shelter. Following my nose brings me to a rundown store, wafting rot from within. I hate it, but there's food in there, and where there's food there's usually alcohol, too. I'm half tempted to bear the stench if it means finding myself something edible.

Take the edge off. I reckon it's worth the risk, so I enter through the caved entrance, boots crunching over debris underfoot. The civilians scurry out my way, or try to follow me at a distance with empty ghost eyes. An old man grasps my jacket as I pass him, pulling me to a halt. I turn. Look down on him.

"Do you believe in god?" he asks me. His breath is like death itself. Shove him back and make my way between toppled isles. He continues to follow, preaching to me while I bend down and rummage through tins and bottles, their contents spilled over the floor from cracks. Punctures.

"Hey, old man, I'm really busy here." Getting fractious. I don't like listening to him tell me about peace and redemption, compassion and faith. He prattles on. I grab a bottle, broken in jagged half. Teeth of glass glint, reflections of light dancing in the fiery reach of a vagabond's barrel. Do I use it?

"Didn't you hear her? Piss off, geezer." Oh, I know that voice. Look up and Nack the weasel is standing there, at the barrel, hands held out before the flames. The vagabond with a crooked tail and bandaged head, his eyes bloodshot, pointed snout aimed downwards. He nods at me. Nod back.

"Wanna drink?" he asks as the old man reluctantly toddles away, and I think about the offer whilst looking about the bankrupt interior of the store. There's really nothing here that hasn't been violated in some way, and I notice upon looking back at Nack that he's got a large bottle at his boots.

"Sure." I stroll over to join him at his fire. Hold my bottle half between my thighs by the neck, easily within reach. Rub my hands together before matching his posture, warming them before the fire. I dutifully ignore his leering gaze over my body. I'll tolerate it. For a while. "How you doing, Nack?"

"Meh. Good as ever." I turn to catch him grinning at my ass. He quickly looks up, winking at me from beneath the brim of his hat. "How about you? Lookin' good." His fur is flaked. Tiny white speckles of dandruff. His tail's kink is more pronounced. It looks broken. Once stylish shoes, now scuffed.

I smirk. "I'm surviving. So… what you got down there?" I notice the lecherous gleam in his eye, the twiddling of his brows and flexing of his gloved hands. Fingers poke through the tattered fabric. "I mean in the bottle, pervert," I add flatly, with a hollow laugh. "Get your mind out the gutter, hon."

"Why? Everything's already in the gutter, dame." He licks his long tooth. A savage feature. It compliments his sordid nature perfectly. Sharp. Cruel. Untrustworthy. I remember his sister sported one of her own. That was one ugly girl. "Was hopin' you'd reward me after rescuing you just now."

"You haven't changed at all. Still trying to claw your way into my pants." His harsh, raspy little monstrosity of a chuckle is annoying at best, at worst, it brings about my urge to hurt him and steal his alcohol. Actually, that's a great idea. And why should we share? I'll go with that. "So how's Nic?"

His confidence evaporates and for the first time his vulnerability shows through. He reaches up to scratch himself behind the ear, upsetting his hat. It's frayed at the edges but characteristic of Nack the weasel. "She, uhh, died. Upset the wrong guys, ya know? I couldn't get to her in time. Splat."

"How awful, hon." I loosen my thighs slightly, just enough to pull out the bottle half from between my legs. I do it subtly, taking advantage of him while he's distracted by his grief. I never knew the weasel too well, but I knew there was bad blood between him and his sister. Still he mourns.

"Yeah. Sometimes I wonder…" He rubs his chin with a thumb, flicking off grit. "Maybe if I was a better role model, ya know? Maybe I could've… I dunno. Protected her? I mean, my sis was a lot of things, sure. I hated that bitch. She hated me. But she was still my sis. My only family."

"Do you miss her?" I grip it by the neck and turn slowly. He doesn't think anything of it when I lay a hand on his shoulder, squeezing the wiry muscle. He's skin and bones underneath his ratty old jacket. I study his face, cast in a warm glow. He's actually not so ugly in this light. Almost cute.

He scoffs. "I guess. She was all I had once the world ended and I lost my guns. Lost everything. Except for this hat. Now she's gone. Yeah. I still got regrets, though. I miss her. But you know what that feels like, don't ya?" His eyes meet with mine. "I heard about your friends. Tough luck, huh?"

I flinch. My body trembles. Still it after a moment. I had pushed those old pains back a long time ago. Depressing to reflect on that portion of my past. And now this little piece of scum is reminding me all about it. But I suppose it's my fault. I brought up his sister. So I'll allow him this small victory. "Yeah."

"Funny, though. Your life. Wasted. Like mine. Miserable. Just like me. We're the same." He offers me a smile that one might call genuine whilst tugging at a glove, his tail sweeping the floor. The motion produces a soft rustling sound. "Who knows? Maybe we can be wasted and miserable together."

His words are so true. It infuriates me. I push myself toward him, against him, cupping his cheek with one hand to feel warm fur. "Wanna see her again?" Plunge the bottle's teeth into his gut with the other. "Make up with her. Consider yourself lucky. Nobody's been this nice to me in years. Bye."

He gasps. I press a quick kiss to his mouth. Twist him on his feet like we're dancing. He's loose. Staring into my eyes. Blushing. I push him backwards into the barrel. Watch as he catches fire, cursing my name and kicking, then falling, clawing at the bottle in his belly. I grab his alcohol and go.

"Thanks for the booze." Nobody stops me or assists the screaming weasel writhing in rubbish. The old man shakes his head as I pass him, but even some religious nut-job's not charitable enough to help some random vagrant who insulted him when he was just talking to a nice lady about goodness.

I step out onto the crowded yet desolate street and resume walking, this time in search of breakfast. I read the label on the bottle of grog. It's some cheap garbage, but it's alcohol, and that makes it precious. I notice dimly that there's an awful lot of meat eaters around. Mostly vegetarian myself.

They don't bother me. They have grudging respect for who I once was, but we don't chat either. I have no friends. No enemies. I'm neutral. They're not interested unless I offer them incentive. But not today. I walk through them. The carnivores disperse, giving me a glimpse of prey trying to hide.

An awkward herbivore, wrapped beneath a cloak which she has allowed to slip down for just a moment. Long enough for me to notice. A cow trembling in the presence of wolves. My eyes are drawn solely to her, ignoring all else to study her round girth, stroking my imagination.

She draws me to a stop right then and there. The pitiful creature somehow fat when I'm so skinny reeks of sweat, filth and something else. Opportunity. She has something to offer. Something I want. What is it? Oh! That's it! Like a light bulb flickering to life above my head, suddenly I remember.

But how to get it? Well, I'll just ask nicely. It's not like I'll get an easy chance like this again. If she says no, that's fine, too. I'll take it anyway. That's basically how it works in this city now. Dignity is dead here. It died when Sonic did. So I don't have to feel guilty about it. I was always a bad egg.

I forget that for now and put on the charm, making my approach whilst licking my teeth. Cross the distance. Our eyes meet. She looks terrified, but maybe hopeful, since I must be like an angel. I'm just a little batgirl. Not some big, scary wolf or fox or bear. Pretty and malnourished. Downtrodden.

I appear to be something that's not thinking about eating her. But what if I'm a vampire? What if I'm after her blood? I know that thought is crossing her mind. I can see it. It's clear in the way she meekly bows her head to me, covering her neck. She doesn't say a word as I amiably draw closer.

But she doesn't know my intentions. She cannot know what_ I'm_ thinking. And that's the beauty of it, that's the magic in these following moments. That's what makes this all worthwhile before I even get my reward. The thing I will soon relish most of all; I get to surprise her. 'Cause I remember now.

"Excuse me, ma'am…" Make her meet my eyes as I carefully bend down to her stooped level, laying my hands on her shoulders. Tilt my head in a friendly fashion. Look her over suggestively. "Sorry to bother you. I was hoping I could borrow you for a second." I can see her readying herself to be used.

I forgot to get milk.

* * *

But what happened to the cow?


End file.
